


for you are most holy

by Amaranth (Ladyboo)



Series: bathed with gold in worship of thee [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel as God, Cock Worship, Face-Fucking, Filth, Finger Fucking, Finger Sucking, M/M, Porn, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, belly bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyboo/pseuds/Amaranth
Summary: And glorious was He, towering above him with solid reassurance in the lines of His chosen form and Sam felt a plea on his tongue for how those electric, undying eyes watched him.“Please.”And He smiled, and all was well.





	for you are most holy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saintsurvivor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsurvivor/gifts).



> This is the first time I've written Supernatural. This is the first time I've written smut. This is absolute blasphemous, religious slanderous filth that was written in the span of a day and a half. It is unedited, so I'm going to apologize now for that, and it was supposed to be just porn, except now it's developed plot, so congrats, there'll be more to it. I am frankly appalled by myself, so I'm just going to post this and go drink some juice now.  
> Credit to saintsurvivor for causing this demon.

His knees had gone numb. 

Quiet steady within his chest where a cloud soft nothing had setted, the languid, comatose throb of his heart, he couldn’t find it in himself to move. There was no desire to be had, for he found a comfort in the disconnect within his legs and the slight curve to his spine. His head bowed, his hands curled in his lap, though his strings had been cut and his body left adrift, he stayed where he had been left some time before. What right had he to move when he had been told that with his person like this, his body low and submission sweet in the deep of his spine, this was when his presence was most pleasing?

He had been made to be on his knees. 

Made to sit in wait with his weight upon his legs, to hold himself with bowed head and bated breath and yearn for a touch that would come only when he most deserved it. When he had given enough, prayed and pleaded and supplicated himself thin on bruised knees and aching joints, only then would he be worthy, only then would his desperation have been enough. 

He blinked, the soft fan of lashes against his cheeks, gossamer, glimmering butterfly wings against gilt edged stained glass and golden marble arches, and the whole world shifted. There was nothing beyond the shadows upon his form and the warmth of his own blood rushing beneath his bare skin, of his fingers where they knotted together loosely against the smooth of his thighs. There was a companionship in the quiet, in the way that his heart had stuttered out a sharp tattoo against the grave of his ribs and he felt the soft caress of a peace previously unknown.

A swath of red spiraled from the ceiling, flickering neon that spilled in from the tall of the windows with a jagged pulse not unlike the beating of his own heart, and it sent an intermittent warmth across his bare skin. There was no need to move for he had not the right, for the things he desired most were always graciously given to him, were they not? Unacceptable then, surely it would be unacceptable to pull himself from where his body had pitched forward some hours ago, so he wouldn’t even if he had the care to. He would be appropriately rewarded for his patience, for his penance when it was deemed enough, when he was deemed worthy, there was no need to worry himself so, for he was loved just as full and sweet as he had ever been loved before. 

Though never alone, never left too far out of reach even when set aside such as now, there was that cloying taste of lonely in his throat, taking his breath like wet cotton and grating against the marrow within him. He was only ever lonely when left like this, but there were things more important than the clawing crawl that would start on his skin and the rattle of voices in the base of his skull, there were plans set in motion that he didn’t need to be bothered with, for his suffering had been taken from him, for he had been found deserving. For he had been found worthy, such a heady notion that he felt his body sway on his unfeeling knees and his burning thighs. 

But to be lonely was to be afraid, and He had promised that such a feeling would never take him for long, never again. For he was devout, for he had proven himself precious for all that he wasn’t inherently righteous, for he was deserving of such love given freely. It was on parted lips then that he breathed, with lowered lashes and the fog of his own breath against his teeth in the humid air, it was with that drawstring ache in his abdomen that he found his voice and felt the tremble of it. 

“Castiel?”

There was no sound in the room apart from the still of his own being, no noise but the thunder of his heart and the molasses seep of his blood within his veins, but he knew. There could be no not knowing, there could be no obliviousness just as there could be no insolence, and praise be but he could taste Him in the air. The starlight burning and ozone bright, the electric feel across his skin and the crackle that it sent through his nerves, surely he would be forgiven for the way that he swayed forward, surely He would not fault him for such weakness. 

“I am here, Samuel.”

Fingers in his hair, blunt and warm and as gentle as they were heavy, touch like hot honey against his skin. His head pulled back, a slow tip just until his throat began to strain, just until his breathing became tight and the words within his throat lost themselves on a moan that came free, unbidden and pure. Familiar, guiding touches, and he could feel the whisper slide of something against his mouth, against his cheeks and his throat, his bare shoulders, and it was only then that he opened his eyes, only then that he dared. 

And glorious was He, towering above him with solid reassurance in the lines of His chosen form and Sam felt a plea on his tongue for how those electric, undying eyes watched him. 

“ _ Please _ .”

And He smiled, and all was well.

There was compassion in that touch to his hair, a love so sweet it set a candy coated ache to his teeth, and oh but how he leaned into it, a flower desperate for the warmth while Castiel stood as the sun. Gentle and benevolent, hazy and unfocused at the edges of his vision and tipped in streaming, starbright silver and grace, it slid across his skin with a languid kind of warmth, sank through his flesh and eased that gnawing ache in his belly until he sighed. Until he sighed, until he tilted his head into that touch, gave himself just as freely to it as he had to the order to take to his knees, and oh, but this was surely what home felt like. 

Castiel moved from him, steps back across the smooth floor and a desperate sound came from him then, something stricken and small and sad. Those fingers moved to his jaw though, a sweeping motion before that touch to was gone and he wanted to lurch forward, wanted to fall until his chest was to the floor, to bare his back and the sharp of his shoulders for a punishment that he surely deserved even if he didn’t yet know why. Instead he watched, nearly trembling at the growing distance between them and Sam watched with rapt attention as Castiel finally paused, as He traced those fingers across the edge of His sunburst throne with the same kind of tender care that He gave to Sam. 

And then He sat, legs spread and His head angled faintly, hands rested upon the arms of the throne with a calm kind of ownership. For He was comfortable in His claim, for He had taken quickly and well to the new order, and oh but how Sam wanted to move. Patience had always been one of his better traits and yet he felt as if his skin weren’t enough in that moment, ready to peel himself from it if only to be closer to Him. 

“Have you taken communion today, Samuel?”

Had he?

How long had he been on his knees, how much time had left him while he waited with bowed head and bated breath for that touch to return? How much time had he lost, how much of himself had grown quiet and small while he thrummed with a near anxiety as he waited for that voice, for those words? He had always been codependent, had always been needy, and he knew the sort of strain that it had put on his family. Never good enough, never had enough, greedy, so damn greedy, did he deserve such a thing? He knew what his greed had done to De-

“Samuel.”

His voice was ever gentle, ever soft, but the command was impossible to ignore, would have been an order even if he hadn’t wanted to follow. 

He did though, oh but how he wanted, and Sam fell forward to his hands then, palms to the floor and his fingers stretched to give himself more purchase with which to balance himself. For his God wanted him, and never would he deny just as he himself was never denied. It was a gift, to be called upon so, to be loved so, and he shifted forward in a crawl. Loose in the sway of his spine, the roll of his hips and his shoulders, he hadn’t been told otherwise though and so he kept his gaze on Him, gave Him his eyes just as he had given every other part of himself. 

He stopped only when his hands were plants between Castiel’s thighs, when his body gathered close between the spread of His legs, and Sam felt as safe then as he did small. It quieted the thoughts in his head, turned silent and intangible the ache that he could never otherwise soothe, and yet Sam waited. Hands to the cushion of the throne where it peeked out from between the spread of His thighs, Sam set his weight on his legs once more where they were folded beneath him, and he watched with the same eternal worship as always. 

And He smiled, however faint that it was for Sam knew that face as well as he should know his own, and such a sight was a blessing. Fingers in his hair again then and he sighed, eyes going heavy simply from the touch that he couldn’t help but lean into, and Sam turned his head just enough, let himself be moved as He saw fit. Fingers on the cliff of his jaw, on the sweet hollow of his cheek and the curve of his chin and he tipped his head when the pressure came, lifted until it was deemed enough. A thumb slid across the curve of his lower lip, just enough pressure to press his mouth agape and he opened willingly, lips loose and welcoming. That thumb moved across his tongue then, pressed down until he was forced to close his mouth around it, and Sam suckled with a depraved kind of habit. 

“You still find yourself unworthy, even after all of this. All that you give unto me, how you have surrendered yourself unto me. But I am the one who measures your worth, Samuel, am I not?”

Honeycomb delicate, the touch to his skin and the way that that voice speaks to him. His eyes go heavier still, body lax in a boneless kind of comfort, and Sam’s body sinks just so as his knees spread, as his weight falls until the tender of his inner thighs rest against the cool floor and a faint burn settles in the crest of his hips. It was all he could do to nod, to keep his eyes open and watch the way that Castiel watched him, but there was no choice to be made. No need to question, to doubt, and instead Sam swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth and tasted Castiel as ozone and something burning and holy slid down his throat. 

“Then trust in my decision, Samuel, for have I ever led you astray?”

No, He hadn’t, He had been kind where Sam deserved less, had loved him even when Sam couldn’t love himself. His thighs could spread no wider, his body could sink no further than he already had, and Castiel turned his head once more until Sam pressed his mouth to one cloth covered knee. His thumb was taken then, Sam’s mouth left empty and he would have whined at the loss had he not been given a greater duty, for he could see the bulging swell of Castiel’s cock against His thigh where it lay beneath His slacks like a promise. And he whined, gave an open mouthed kiss to that knee. And he pulled himself highed up to his knees once more when he needed to, when his mouth trailed kisses high enough that he had to lift himself to prevent his Lord from having to slouch for him. 

His knees slid across the floor, smooth and chilled against his bare skin as he pulled himself up with the flex of his thighs, and Sam drew his mouth across the inseam of those slacks. The fabric grew damp beneath his ministrations, charcoal turned nearly black with the wet imprint of his lips and his tongue, and Sam gave himself in those kisses. Upward still, another pull of his thighs though his hands hadn’t moved, and his mouth found the head of Castiel’s cock through the crisp, dark fabric. He swept his lips across it, felt the wide flare at the base of the head even swathed as it was, and he fitted his mouth there. Suckled to His cloth covered cock like he had his thumb and he could nearly taste Him for all that he could smell the musk of His skin. 

There was saliva on his chin, a sheen of it that had gathered there where it spread from the open of his lips and though he hadn’t even truly given his mouth yet to his Lord, he felt filthy. His face sticky from the wet of his own saliva, his cock dripping slow pearls of precum from where it hung heavy between his thighs, Castiel’s pant leg had long since grown damp. He could feel the way that His flesh throbbed, and he wanted the weight of it upon his tongue, within his throat. He wanted, and his Lord had never denied him, for to deny himself was to deny Him and such was a transgression that the mere thought of gave him want to weep. 

Adoring fingers took to their task then, lifted finally from where they had rested patient between the spread of His thighs. Fingertips moved with a careful press, first to the muscle of His thighs before taking to the fasten of His slacks, and the simple button came free before Sam took care with the zip, a shiver tripping its way up his spine at the sound it made. Castiel made no move to help him, seated on His throne with the sort of looming majesty that sent something hot curling in his abdomen, and Sam leaned forward. With a familiar ease did his hand pull free His cock, thick as it was and flushed with a scalding heat and he moaned at the sight. 

“I will ask again, Samuel. Have you taken your daily communion?”

Gentle words, and thought there was no touch to his person, Sam leaned all the same. For as large as he knew himself to be, he felt smaller still, hollow bones and quiet compliance, and his breath was a sigh. Lidded hazel eyes found his Lord, found Him watching patient and commanding and powerful, and there was a dip to his spine then, a curl to his body as he drew himself closer. 

“No, Castiel.”

From the corner of his gaze, he watched as His hand moved. Only the one, lifted with a slow motion as if not to startle him, and Sam met the touch half way. Swayed his body until he could give his head to that hand, until His fingers could move across his scalp and curl through his hair. He swept a thumb across his temple and down the arch of his cheek, He shifted his hold and caused Sam to lean forward as He cupped the back of his head in that all encompassing grasp. 

There was reverence within that touch, for his Lord was pleased with his honesty even if nothing else, a gentle guidance to a task that Sam took to willingly. A slight pull, leading where he would gladly go each and every time, and Sam caught His gaze once more. The kiss of blood gorged flesh against his lips, the taste of arousal and salt and he held himself there, blinked at Him while Castiel held him. 

And then his lips parted with the holy sigh of the most devout. 

And then he loosened his mouth, for he took within himself the flesh of his Lord.

The heavy weight of Castiel’s cock upon his tongue, the taste of Him filled his senses until it became all that he needed. The hand on his head was light, but Sam needed no guiding through a motion that he felt he knew better than breathing. His body slid forward on bruised knees, the sweet, sharp bloom of an old ache that flared through his legs even as his torso sagged. It wasn’t until his nose pressed between those undone fastens that he realized his eyes had fallen shut. Throat full, head spinning, that touch shifted from his head to his cheek once more, to his chin until His fingers tested the stretched thin skin of his throat and Sam whined. 

“Breathe through your nose, Samuel.”

A command he could follow, an aid that he needed and though his breath was thin, he took it all the same. Those fingers pressed at his throat, He felt the way that Sam breathed and seemed to find it acceptable, for instead His thumb swept across the wide spread of his full lips. Veneration in that touch, in the way that Castiel dripped the holy, silverlight burn of his grace down his throat, and Sam fell forward until his chest caught on the edge of the throne. And he was cradled there, for He smiled upon him with His everlit eyes and the starshine of His grace and Sam sank willingly, gratefully. 

His body went numb like that, with the heady way that Castiel’s cock trapped his tongue and that thumb on the corner of his mouth as if to test the give. He had to swallow the saliva that had gathered, unable to will himself to remove his mouth from his Lord’s flesh long enough to let it drip free, and the motion caused his throat to flutter around the intrusion of the other. And Castiel groaned, a symphony of a sound that Sam felt skate across his skin, and he would have preened beneath its glide had he not been so enraptured. 

He had no time to bask though, no chance to set on his haunches and revel in the taste on his tongue, for his Lord had made sound, for he had received praise and such deliverance could not go unanswered. So his hands planted upon His thighs, and Sam set himself to his task. Another swallow, just as wet and fluttering as the first and he held his God in his throat for as long as he could. Until his head swam, until his lungs felt ocean burst heavy and tight and only then did he pull himself back, only then did he slide his lips along the thick flesh between them. The barest hint of his teeth, the purposeful curl of his tongue and the way that he dragged it across the throbbing vein that sat fat and copper tang heavy on his tongue. 

Sam found a comfort in the ache that made a home for itself in the hinges of his jaw, and his fingers curled where they rested on His thighs, used His body to anchor himself. His fingers tightened in his hair, His thighs twitched beneath Sam’s touch and such was the only warning he was given before the hand in his hair twisted, before it caught a fistful of his hair and held there. Before His hips snapped up, before Sam’s mouth stretched wide around the base of His cock and he gagged. Only for a moment, only for an instant, because there it slid again, from his throat and across his tongue, until the wide flare of the head bumped the backs of his teeth. His moan was muffled, choked off and wet from where His cock forced itself once more into the open willing of his throat and Sam gripped fistfuls of the fabric beneath his touch. 

Something to hold onto, something to brace himself with even as his bruised knees slipped, even as his head swam and his cock throbbed, a thin stream of precum sticky and slick where it dripped toward the floor. Castiel held him exactly where he wanted to be, His hand in his hair and His hand pressing to his throat to feel the way that His cock moved there. He would have moaned if he could, would have followed the motions if he had been given the chance, but what need had he of autonomy when He held him, when the hands of his Lord cradled him and moved him so?

Castiel tilted his head just right, pulled him forward and angled his head and he couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t find his breath, he couldn’t feel his lungs or find the strength to move his tongue beneath the meaty drive of that cock against it, and Sam could only shudder beneath His command. Oh but how glorious it felt, divine was the delirium that sprouted from his bones, most holy was the way that his breath had been taken from him and his thighs spread a little wider, his body sank a little lower until the only thing that held him up was the way that He had fitted His cock so fiercely into his throat. 

“You are so beautiful like this, my Samuel. So beautiful and the most worthy, I cannot fathom another who I could ever love so.”

Tears in his eyes, the low burn of them, the way that they blurred his vision and slipped down his lashes to cut paths across the scald of his flushed cheeks. Tears for how he couldn’t breathe, for how he didn’t care, the surrender that had taken root in lungs that he couldn’t feel. His head swam, body pliant and limp to the touch of his Lord and Sam had never felt more loved.    
It was only when his lungs ached and his visioned turned glimmering and grey around the edges that He released him, that the hand fisted in his hair pulled at his hair until Sam’s head tipped back. Mouth empty and aching, the sound that came from his unoccupied throat was a sob, desperate and depraved. A mess of saliva connected them, gleaming in the violent splash of neon that pulsed through the windows at a rhythm he couldn’t quite catch, but Sam couldn’t help but whine. He was held there only for a moment, only long enough for him to cry, and then He released his hair, and then He let him worship as he willed. 

So his mouth returned to its work, so his hunters body curled until he could press his lips to the thick swell and he mouthed across the side of the shaft, lips stretched and his tongue worrying across throbbing, copper bright skin. 

He took the weight of His cock into his mouth once more, nursed upon His flesh with a wet, lavish reverence, and Sam felt as if he could breathe once more. Slower now, trails of saliva left behind where his mouth had been every time that he pulled back, and Sam suckled on the flared head, pacified by the slow, steady motion that he made for them. Easy then, to take Castiel into his throat once more, to give thanks to his Lord as he took his flesh, as he felt Him drip down his throat.

"Will you pledge yourself to me? You have been most faithful, most deserving of every ounce of love I have offered, for you are indeed most worthy of love, Samuel. My Samuel, who has fought in my name, who has suffered in my name, but will you pledge yourself to me, swear unto me your ever undying soul to have and to hold and to shelter as it so deserves?"   
A burning in his eyes, tears on his lashes, and even with the familiar weight on his tongue and the taste of heaven in his throat, Sam felt himself choke. Castiel hadn’t moved, seated still on the sunburst throne that He had made for Himself with the will of the righteous and the penance of the damned, hadn’t flexed His hips or shifted His thighs since Sam had been allowed to return to his worship, but the weight of His cock felt more then. Gracelight fire in his belly, the truth of heaven in his veins and he nodded as best he could.   
"Will you, boy?"   
A curling moan, made muffled and guttural by the cock that he swallowed and he felt his body pulse. Ethereal, everlit eyes but Castiel watched him still, stared at him on his knees with his mouth full and his own cock dripping steadily upon the cool stone floor, watched him and waited. It took strength to move his mouth, so strenuous was it to slip his lips and tongue across skin until the only thing that connected swollen flesh to his bruised mouth was a string of saliva and the faint kiss of his lips when he spoke.   
"I swear unto you."   
And Castiel smiled, for his God was pleased, and those fingers soothed through his hair and eased his mouth back to its duty.   
"Good boy."

Such praise, given freely in a voice so pure, offered to him with the succulence of fruit that held no damnation for all of its splendor. He moaned, ready for the deliverance that waited just before his mouth, and his tongue chased across his lips if only for the ghost of His taste. He was held at bay though, kept apart from that which he wanted most upon his tongue by a twist of His hand in his hand, and thought Sam whined he didn’t fight against His hold. His gaze lifted instead, found that celestial, starbright blue where He stared once more and felt a fissure run through him, felt cracked open and left empty, left yearning. 

“Rise, my Samuel. Saint’s do not belong on their knees unless in prayer.”

Castiel released his hair then, and it was with His hands on His thighs that Sam rose. 

His knees had gone numb.

His knees had gone numb and he swayed when he stood, his hands at his sides and his body burning. There was no simple way to ignore the heat upon his skin, the throb of his neglected cock where it bobbed between his thighs, but Sam made no motion to touch himself. He stood there instead, between the bracket of His spread knees, with a sheen of sweat upon his sun golden skin and his long hair curling faintly at his shoulders. Bare to the gaze of his Lord, for who was he to deny, and he felt as shy as he did cherished beneath the blue, blue, blue of His eyes. 

Castiel held out a hand to him then, offering that which Sam knew not if he deserved, but he would never question his Lord just as he would never doubt Him. So he held out his own, placed his hand along the warmth of Castiel’s palm and moved only when he was drawn in. Pulled to the throne as if he belonged there, as if he too were deserving of such praise, worthy of such devotion to touch such a thing. 

There was enough room along the seat that his knees could slow themselves on either side of Castiel’s thighs, and His hand left Sam’s to instead take him by the hips. A steadying touch, a gentle touch, and the soft of the cushion felt cloud like against the stone bruises of his knees where he settled his weight. The fabric of His slacks was cool against his skin, burning as he was, and Sam’s body slid into an arch as one of His hands traveled to the small of his back. 

His other hand lifted then, brushed His fingers against his lips, and Sam opened his mouth once more. Three fingers then, pressed upon his tongue and into the wet of his mouth and Sam lathed his tongue across them like he had His cock. For he knew this, and his body ached with the wanting, with the promise, and he wet His fingers as best he could while slitted, fox eyes watched Him. 

And He watched him in return even as He pressed His fingers against the soft of his tongue, as He gathered the sleek of his saliva, and Castiel was as attentive as He was enrapturing. Sam wanted to press his mouth to the hinge of His jaw, wanted to slip his lips across the column of His throat and pay homage to the holy that was His image. Instead, he nursed at the fingers in his mouth, took them just as he had taken Castiel’s cock and though they weren’t the same, he treated them as one. 

They were nearly dripping when Castiel took them from his lips, when he lost that connection between them and oh but how he whined. He swayed forward to try and follow them, to try and reclaim some sort of weight there, some sort of warmth, but He just shushed him with a soft, gentle compassion. And the hand on the small of his back gave pressure, and Sam fell forward until he rested against His chest, with his hands caught on His shoulders. He knew this feeling, knew what came before it, but Sam shivered in anticipation all the same, fingers curling into the crisp cotton of His button down. 

He flinched at the first pass of His fingers just as he always did, and His mouth found his jaw as Castiel gave a steady pressure. Teeth dragged across the sharp there, against his skin with a stinging sort of kiss, and though he tried to turn into it, tried to chase Castiel’s mouth with his own, Sam lost himself to a moan instead. A punched sound, pulled out of him from where their bellies crushed together and his cock smeared a pulse of precum between them as He managed a finger to the first knuckle, to the second. 

A hiccup of sound, sensitive as he was and Sam instead sagged forward further still, hands twisting in His shirt. Already his body tried to follow, stuttering little falls of his hips to try and keep the sensation as Castiel took back his finger, and Sam would have whined from the lose had it not been joined by a second into his pliant, accepting body. For he knew this, he knew this act intimately and he craved this worship, this sacrifice, he yearned for the chance to give unto his Lord every time that they parted and his body knew it and knew it well. Yet whine still he did, a high sound, a wavering sound, back arching as those two fingers pressed deep, down to the webbing that connected them to the rest of His hand, and he wanted more. 

Castiel made no move to stop him when his hips rose and fell, when he tried to chase his pleasure upon those two fingers. Instead, His hand lifted from his back, His hand skated against his flank in a sweep of encouragement before dipping further down. A fistful of flesh caught between His fingertips, and Castiel pulled him apart with a single hand, exposed his heat and rewarded his incentive with the addition of a third finger with a sharp, sweet bite of pain numbed just as soon as it had come. It joined the first two quickly, absent on the lift and there on the fall and Sam moaned, the sound nearer to a wail as his body burned hot, as his hips sank and his hole stretched until he had taken those three fingers as deep as he could. He knew not how much time had passed since he had last done this, but his body still held loose, his hole still stretched like it hadn’t managed to recover completely, and dimly, Sam wondered if he had dripped Castiel’s come onto the floor while he nealt. 

Blunt tips, wide knuckles to match the width of the bone that stretched between, His vessel had always had large hands. Large hands and luminous eyes, a voice that echoed like thunder across his skin, and Sam cried out against his chest. 

“Look at me, Samuel.”

A command that he could never ignore, for He had spoken, for He had given word and who was he to deny his Lord? 

Hands to His chest, Sam pushed himself up, felt His fingers shift and spread just as he found His eyes, and his mouth hung open. Lips loose, tongue peeking from between them, he held himself up as Castiel watched him, as He smiled. The hand that gripped his ass with a strength to promise the tender kiss of bruises shifted then, fingers slipping wider so that He cold grasp rather than simply hold, and that was the only warning he received. For Castiel moved him then, a servant of his Lord caught beneath the holy righteous of His will, and Sam could only gasp, could only try to catch his breath as He helped him in fucking himself on His fingers. 

Gracelight in his body, burning and soothing and turning him hot, turning him  _ wet _ , and Sam leaned back into it. He kept himself up by his hands on His chest even as his hips danced across His lap, even as His knuckles stretched the grace filled drip of Sam’s hole and His fingertips smeared across his prostate in a constant gift of white hot, of too much. Sensation so sweet, stained glass sharp and consuming, but Sam pressed himself into it, fucked his hole down against His fingers and took what he was given, for what sort of faithful would he be to deny daily communion?

He was screaming, he knew that he was, a bruised sound from somewhere in the hollow of his lungs but there seemed to be no stopping it. His fingers beat a steady rhythm against his prostate, fat knuckles stretching the sensitive rim of his hole momentarily wider with every forced, downward thrust. Sweat slid sticky against his sun golden skin, and Sam felt a sacrifice then, felt like the offering that he knew he was, pulled apart and fucked open by the hand of the Most Holy. 

Those eyes watched him, everlit blue and celestial bright, pupils blown with His arousal, and Sam wanted to kiss him. He wanted to press their mouths together for all that his lips were loose and panting, but he didn’t trust himself to move. Castiel hadn’t given him permission for that, and instead He fucked His fingers into the scalding, wet grace drip of his body, and it was everything Sam could do to hold on. His thighs trembled from the way he heaved himself, a burn in the small of his spine from the way that they both fucked him down on His fingers, but he couldn’t stop. Why would he, when his prayer had been answered, when his patience had been rewarded by this most visceral answer from his Lord?

“You are going to come like this, my Samuel.”

He would indeed, if that was what was required of him. To find his finish on the fingers of his Lord was a gift, but he knew enough to know better. He knew it wouldn’t end there, for he hadn’t received communion for as much of a gift as this was, and already his body tired, already it ached. But Sam nodded, as best he could for how he moaned, for how it made him cry, for the punishing pace that Castiel had set for them with His fingers sending grace bright fire through his veins. His cock wept between them, precum having made the white of Castiel’s shirt translucent against His abdomen, a thick string of it connecting his bobbing cockhead to the place where it had puddled. His God made no move to touch him though, didn’t shift a hand toward his cock  and so Sam didn’t move his for all that he sobbed and instead, he fucked himself with extra force, felt the way his hole stretched wide around His fat knuckles and felt the cut of fresh tears upon his cheeks. 

“You are going to come like this, my Samuel, and then you will take my cock, won’t you? For this is my body, which is given for you. Do this in worship of me so that I may worship you, my Saint.”

His breath a wheeze, punched from his lungs for all that his hips ached, and Sam felt his body draw tight. A snap of sensation, sun bright flame that licked up his spine and left him shaking, and Sam couldn’t help but sob. He came in a rush, hot against Castiel’s chest and ruin against the thighs of His slacks, and He fucked him through it, fingers intent through the spasming of his muscles and the jerking of his cock as he cried. 

He had fallen forward, face pressed to Castiel’s throat as he came down, as his head swam and his chest heaved. Tremors wracked him, a shaking to his limbs and a underwater thick in his lungs, and it was only when he felt two hands on his hips that he felt the empty ache from where Castiel had filled him. Gentle kisses to his temple, to his hair, and His fingers pet comfort into his trembling sides, but Sam cried still. 

“ _ Please!” _

Another kiss, another comfort, and he could feel the shimmer of grace as Castiel held him, as God’s Will wrapped itself around him and cradled him. It did little to calm him though, to placate him for all that his heart raced, and Sam felt the way that Castiel smiled against his temple. 

“Of course, my Saint. You need not beg for something which you deserve.”

He was lifted then, a single hand beneath the flushed cheeks of his ass, held open by the same hand that held him. Castiel didn’t ask him to lift his head then, didn’t ask him for his eyes, and Sam was grateful though he cried, though he knew what came and anticipation made him weak. Another kiss to his hair and then, there. 

The fat flare of that mushroom head against his hole, slick with something that burned holy water bright and sweet and that was always the hardest part. The wide lip of His cockhead where it spread Sam open wide, where his body turned liquid molton and heavy. And that was enough, the release of his weight gave enough to force the widest part of Him inside, and Sam’s scream was given against His sweat-slick throat. A reedy, breathless sound, pulled high from within him so it clattered against his teeth, and the cotton beneath his hands twisted, seams popping as Castiel held him, as Castiel eased him. Small motions, hitching thrusts of his hips despite the way he was tired, Sam fucked himself down onto his Lord in time, body pressed wide and his silken walls made more wet still by grace where it settled deep within him. 

His breath panted hot against Castiel’s throat, thighs trembling and his hands twisted tight, and he whined from the loss when Castiel’s hands were taken from him. From the corner of his eyes he could see one hand, set loose on the arm of the golden throne and he wanted to reach out, to lace their fingers together and bring His hand to his lips. Instead he sighed, for he knew what came next, and he pushed himself up slowly before He even spoke. 

“Take your worship, my Samuel. Let me watch you.”

Up just enough and he kissed Him then, pressed their mouths together for all that his own were bruised and spit slick. His hips rocked, a grinding motion slower than the punishment that His fingers had wrought upon his insides, and Sam’s head tipped back on a sighing moan at the feel of it. Impossibly thick inside of him, Castiel settled so deep it was like he could taste Him in the back of his throat, and when he sat upright upon His lap, the weight of His cock pressed full into the swollen of his prostate. A guttural sound and his shoulders sagged, fingers spasming across Castiel’s chest as he tried to find purchase against the electricity that coursed through him. His cock twitched between them, not even half hard yet and still spent from his first orgasm, and Sam’s breath caught at every pass of sticky, clinging cotton across the sensitive head. 

For all the he wasn’t hard though and for all that he already ached, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be strung out for his Lord, wanted to lose the air in his lungs and the feeling in his legs, bruises upon his skin from where He gripped to tight. So he took a breath, steadied himself with his hands on the arms of the throne when he leaned back, and Sam set himself on display as he fucked himself on the fat throb of Castiel’s cock. 

Neon across their skin, violent splashes of red from the windows that arched high beside them. He knew not where they were, knew not precisely where He had taken them, but the Detroit skyline was familiar even from the neon glare. Fitting then, surely, that he would be pulled apart and remade each and every day by He who loved him in the city where another had tried to destroy him. 

“You are  _ divine _ , my Samuel.”

There was a press to his belly, something heavy against his abdomen, and as his thighs strained and his slowly hardening cock slapped against his skin, a glance down gave him reason anew to moan, as if such a sound hadn’t already taken over his throat. He sobbed with it, wet and thick from between swollen lips, and that was the press of His cock, he could see it with every harsh thrust that Sam gave. Every drop of his body and there, straining against the skin of his abdomen, that was the head of His cock, the wide of it flaring against his body from the inside until Sam could see the way that it pressed and formed his skin as He carved out a home for himself. 

Back bowed, chest lifted and his thighs straining, he fucked Him there, displayed himself out on the golden sunburst throne, on the will of the righteous and the penance of the damned, hard between them and his face flushed with crying. 

“Please!”

“Yes, my Samuel?”

A broken sound, a garbled sound, and though his breathing was harsh, he could hear the way that Castiel had begun to pant, could feel how His body strained with the tension of keeping Himself still. 

“Please, C-Castiel please, I’ve been good! I’v-I’ve been good, please fuck me, please fuck me, plea-”

He wasn’t given long to beg though he cried all the same, and his world tilted as Castiel stood, as He held him close and fast with His cock still buried deep. Up like this, suspended with his legs hooked over strong forearms and his fingers scrambling at broad shoulders, he was left powerless. Spread too far and unable to find the momentum to move like he wanted, unable to fuck himself like he so desperately desired, and Sam cried out against the salt sleek of His throat. 

Cool stone then, ice shock burning against his back and trimmed with the hum of electric grace, all he knew was the neon that flashed before his slitted eyes and the way that He folded his body in half. Arms stretched past his head, the surface he gripped the edge of was familiar, strikingly so, and laid out on the altar of his Lord did Samuel scream. Hips lifted and curled until they touched nothing but the fronts of Castiel’s slacks, his legs were bent with his knees near his shoulders and his thigh spread wide. His cock dripped there, the head smearing against his chest with every thrust and oh, but how he cried, hiccupping breaths punched out of him by the brutal drive of Castiel into his body. 

Castiel with His teeth bared, with His ephemeral eyes narrowed, the blacks of His pupils blown liquid and wide. Castiel with His strong shoulders, with His holy grace and His divine being and the way that He took Sam apart as if He knew him best, as if He owned him. Reverence then in the way that His thighs snapped against Sam’s hips, that was reverence, that was love, such was worship like he had never known with any other, like He claimed he had always deserved. 

“This world will fall to their knees before you, my Saint, they will revel in your glory as I do. They will supplicate themselves for the sound of your voice as I do, they will offer their hearts and souls unto you as I have, for it is in Your image that I shall remake this world.”

He was beautiful, ocean churning and cosmic bright, everything wonderful that Sam had never dared to touch, pleased with him,  _ wanting _ of him. His voice a boom in the quiet of their Sanctuary, His presence undeniable for the way that He had buried Himself deep beneath Sam’s skin, the grace of His glory as such that they would never be parted for how it had taken root in his bones. 

“For you are my Most Holy, Samuel Winchester, for you are my Most Faithful. My Prophet, my Saint, I give unto you the everlasting of I, God, just as I have given my love.”

Castiel pressed a heavy hand to place where He bulged beneath Sam’s skin, the flare of His cockhead beneath the tight of Sam’s abdomen, and the world became small. Neon in his eyes, Castiel was framed by it, backlit by the sporadic red and the way it turned everything hot and burning. There was holy fire in his skin, penance and worship and glory in the way that his thighs strained with his pleasure, the way that his back arched from the ever cool stone of the altar. He came with a wail, punch drunk and reeling, body flexing even as the white hot tight of him spasmed, even as his come painted his chest and the back of Castiel’s hand. 

His head swam, vision hazy and neon brilliant at the edges and he could see the truth of Him then, the way His skin did little to contain Him and the wide, star silver expanse of His grace where it flooded the room just as He flooded Sam’s body.

“For you are  _ perfect _ .”


End file.
